


Stripped Bare

by InfraVioletUltraRed



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfraVioletUltraRed/pseuds/InfraVioletUltraRed
Summary: You know, you didn’t even want to go to this strip club, anyway.





	Stripped Bare

You know, you didn’t even _want_ to go to this strip club, anyway. This whole thing could have been avoided if your friends hadn’t dragged you with them. But _noooooo_ , they had to bring you with them, because the place had just opened, and you never got out enough, and you needed to spice your life up.

Well. It had certainly done that.

You’d sort of yawned through the first three acts, even as your friends completely melted down.

Tat Daddy, as the first act was called, sent a ripple of moans and exclamations that often ended in “daddy” through the audience of exuberant, thirsty women. He was talented, lifting women selected off the floor with one hand and letting them hang off him as he curled his biceps, flexing to the oohs and ahhs of the women (especially the ones around you. One of your friends got to get up on stage with him, much to her delight—she sighed audibly as he extended a hand to her. She sat on his back as he did a few push-ups, and shrieked as he flipped under her, did a crunch to kiss her, then lifted her in his arms, to hand her down off the stage, amongst your friend group once again. He winked at the four of you and blew a kiss to the audience before he made his way offstage. Your friend set her feet down on the ground and nearly swooned, though you caught her. She was red as a firetruck, and… you hoped that was just her sweat, not his too.

The next act was one whose beauty, whose catlike lithe movements you could appreciate (he was very pretty, he moved well, there was a lot to like), but he just didn’t do it for you. At least, not the way he seemed to for other women.

You were gasping alongside them as you watched him do some impressive drops and polework, but even with all that, you felt… nothing. Well not nothing, just less of something than everyone else, it seemed.

This was aesthetically gorgeous, you admitted that gladly. He was good at what he did, whoever he was (you’d missed his name while you were trying to keep your friend who’d been Tat Daddy’s little weight prop stable).

Aaaand there went another of your friends, sashaying up to the stage as the stripper beckoned to her, just crooking his finger over and over, leaning against the pole and smoldering at her. His green eyes were utterly lit up and you know that your friend was in for something that she wouldn’t forget. She got up onto the stage, and he reached up and slowly removed his tie, snapping it through his fingers to remove the loop that had once been the knot. When she reached him, he lifted his weight off the pole as though he was being led by his lips, leaning in to brush his lips against hers before he pulled away and took her hand, pulling her with him until he had her backed against the pole, where he tied her hands behind her back, around the pole, with the tie, grinning at her as he leaned in to test the strength of the knot.

Perfect.  She grinned as he began the finale of his routine, making more of those catlike movements and ghosting his hands over her.

The smile faded, leaving her with her mouth hung open as his touches got more insistent, more deliberate, more… serious. Pointed. You could almost hear her panting over the music.

She looked about ready to come as he leaned in for the last time to brush her lips with his, and then slip behind the pole to kiss her neck as he untied her, returning her to you looking like she’d been ridden hard and out away wet.

Well. Wet was a good word.

As for the next act, you could understand why he was called “Sleeping Beauty.” He was beautiful, and he was brought out, spread out and eyes shut, on a navy-blue velvet chaise longue carried by Tat Daddy, the stripper who had just been out, and a third man (who you hoped would go on tonight), though mostly (you figured) by Tat Daddy.  When the chair was put down you got a good look at him—dark hair, pale skin, and a whole lot of fancy clothing. So he was the slow-unwrap type, eh? Next to you, your third friend was losing her mind.

So, _of course_ , she was chosen to kiss this sleeping beauty awake. She bent over, bracing herself on the back of the chair as she lowered her mouth to his. At the press of her lips, his eyes snapped open, and he leaned up into her. As she moved back, he moved with her. He pulled away briefly to stretch, then rose, turned her and tipped her back, and kissed her again. She, in perfect timing, lifted her leg as he dipped her, so he ran his hand from her cheek to her leg, hooking her knee briefly before he brought her back up to standing.

“Thank you, milady.” He breathed, kissing her hand and grinning. She nodded and was helped down as his routine began, the sound of a guitar and drums accompanied with a grunt and a thrust.

His slow-unwrap, peeling off layer after layer of his clothes, was less slow than you expected, though not rushed. Everyone was eager for the clothes to come off, but even as he gave them what they wanted it was on his terms. He teased. He was taking his time, spacing out the time between garments with strutting, posing, running his hands along his body, and grins and winks at the audience. He certainly knew how to rile up a roomful of women. They shouted, begging for more, faster _, please, you beauty you_.

You weren’t sure how much more he could take off by the end, other than his skin itself, when he turned, shrugging into his cloak again. Luckily for the audience, it didn’t reach the floor, so they could see as his navy-blue silk boxers _did._ He pulled the cloak a little closer around him, and strutted off the stage, leaning his upper body into view again to let the cloak fall from his shoulders, wink, blow a kiss, and wave.

There was an absolute roar as his clothes were collected off the stage to get ready for the next act. You were almost swept up in their excitement—Sleeping Beauty had put on _quite_ a show.

But not enough of one to ruffle your feathers. You were still holding out for that blonde you’d seen carrying Sleeping Beauty’s chair in. Then it occurred to you, you sure were in a lucky group—all three of your friends had been up on stage.

Not that you’d mind going onstage if it was part of that cute blonde’s routine… you really hoped he was up next, just the little glimpse you’d gotten of him was enough to spark your curiosity, your, dare you think it, desire.

You wanted to see him up there, so badly.

So how lucky for you that just then, the stage was ready, and a bouncy little number full of trombones and trumpets started playing, and there was the blonde—no sleeves, spiked hair, and a smile on his face, grinning and twirling a pistol.

The more electronic parts of his song, he stripped, first taking off the sparkly vest he wore, letting it fly into the audience. He did a little shimmy then, in his tight black pants and tank top.

The rest of the time, he did trick shots with that pistol (and a few others—there was a table nearby with an assortment of guns). One of them, the first one that truly made you gasp, was that he shot the core out of an apple that had been balanced on Tat Daddy’s head. After taking the shot, he twirled the pistol around his finger, stopping it and running his tongue up the gun’s barrel.

You actually felt your reaction in your core, a dull throb that sent a shiver up your spine. You pressed your legs together and tried to choke back the combined moan and whine that you wanted to let out.

Aaand now he was looking for a volunteer. Your friends all pointed at you; they could see the lust in your eyes, and how you’d barely moved through his entire routine, rooted to the spot, eyes wide and jaw hanging loosely. You watched, almost in slow motion, as “Mr. Sunshine” looked up from peeling off his tank top to see the staff bringing you up, smiled and nodded.

He seemed… excited about this. Well, so were you. Though in a different sense. You took a deep breath, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants as you reached out to let him help you up the stairs and lead you over to what looked like a giant dart board. He was spinning a different pistol than he had been using before around one finger, and he squinted like he was setting up a photograph as staff strapped you to the board, unrolling a bit of fabric that Velcro-ed on either side of your body (covering where the bulls’ eye would be) and said, “Not here!”

 _Oh god. He was going to shoot at you._  

He lined up the shot, closing one eye as he straightened his posture, rolled his shoulders back, and—

Did you trust a stripper? Your friends had brought you out here and now you were going to die because you thought this guy was sexy because now he was going to shoot at you and—

_Pop!_

It was a pop gun. You could read the little flag that hung down; it said “bang!” like in the cartoons. You heaved a huge sigh of relief, and Mr. Sunshine smiled at you.  Well, you could see why they called him sunshine, you felt warm and safe and… he was leaning in as the staff took you off the board, he was calling you “good sport,” and he… _he kissed you._

You made your way off the stage, legs jelly for a host of reasons at this point, and returned to your friends just in time to see Mr. Sunshine tear his tight black pants off to reveal silver boxers (they’d matched his vest! That’s cute!).

He bounded off the stage, then, and the rest of your night passed in a blur.

You’d thought you were going to die. And then he’d kissed you.

“I think I’m in love,” you murmured as the show ended.

“Y/n, you’re taking this way too seriously,” one of your friends responded. “We called ahead and made it so we all got to go up there. We figured you’d like Sunshine; he’s your type.”

“I don’t have _a type_.” You huffed.

“You do,” another chimed in. “And it’s him.”

Behind the curtain, as they all got dressed in street clothes, the strippers were having a similar conversation.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss her, Prompto.”

“I couldn’t help it!” he yelled, “She looked so nervous! She thought I was actually gonna shoot her!”

Sleeping Beauty laughed. “You sure it’s not because you thought she was cute?”

“Well, that, too. But it’s not like you didn’t kiss your girl extra-long!”

“That was for the act.”

“Yeah, _sure.”_

There was a sigh. “Maybe we all got a little carried away with our audience participation tonight.”

There was a laugh, and they all turned to their heads to the tattooed man. “You may be right, Iggy, but they were all such _willing, nubile_ participants…”


End file.
